


Kiss Me Hard Before You Go

by mllenoire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:01:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mllenoire/pseuds/mllenoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa had refused to give her lover away, fearing for him. She had known the consequences of doing so. Perhaps the law would not punish him, for the law could not possibly know the extent to which this affair had been going on for, but her father could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was raining that night, Narcissa vaguely registered as she stared out the half-cleaned windowpane. Her breath collected on the glass and she gingerly reached one, delicate hand to wipe away the fog. Her eyes reflected then, glassy and blue; the color of the ocean when summer had hit its apex and one could see right to the sand floor of the marine world. They were pale irises, unable to stand up to the dark depths of her pupils; the blue drowned in them, as if sinking into a black hole of nothingness from which it never would escape. Perhaps one day she would wake up blind to the world, her irises having finally succumbed to the pull of black, depressive depths.

She turned her head away, shaking the few blonde strands of her hair that had freed themselves from the taught bun on the back of her head. She tried to rid her mind of the melancholy thoughts that permeated her wall of complete apathy. One breath. Another. With one hand pressed against the gentle, practically unnoticeable curve of her stomach and the other pressed to the base of her throat she calmed herself. She caught her reflection again, this time from a mirror across the room. There she stood, all of nineteen in a gown that concealed that small bump in a magnificent way; only those who already knew would know about the babe slowly growing within her blue-blooded womb. It was blue; like the color of her eyes, the shade of her blood, the aura that surrounded her. The fabric fell to the floor, satisfyingly brushing between her legs as she walked across the hardwood. The gauze, tulle, and satin could offer some form of protection from her betrothed, could it not? Her pleas and protestations did only so little, but the man was such a materialistic _gentleman_ that the thousand-galleons worth of material might dissuade his advances.

She had found him in Paris, or more correctly- her father had found him and shipped his youngest daughter- a disgrace, an almost pariah to Paris. It was a perfect match, he said with a lack of emotion that was almost terrifying compared to the anger that had leapt from Cygnus’ lips during the past weeks. She had failed him again. She had been his last child, his last daughter, and his last failure at attempts to conceive an heir. She had been his last hope for a respectable marriage and that hope had disappeared faster then the droplets of water, outside, had made their way down the windows. She still remembered his eyes when it had been revealed. Anger. Loss. Disappointment. Another wave of melancholy- or was that nausea?- caused Narcissa Black to sit down on the edge of the bed.

She had found him for her. A meaningless man to marry and raise the child with, that was all Evan Rosier was for her. She had slept with him, just once, shortly after her arrival in the country. She had been seeking something; a warmth, an intimacy that she was so used to feeling in the aftermath of love making. There was nothing but a feeling of lead weight rolling in her stomach after the act. She’d rushed to the shower the moment he’d fallen asleep beside her. They already knew, then, that they were to be engaged and married; contracts had been signed saying so, but it would have all be very inappropriate to announce and celebrate so close to her grandpapa’s death. Mourning had ended this past fortnight and she, the prodigal daughter, was called home. The act, so uncharacteristically pushed for by her father was a cover for the man her sire called a fiend and blackguard. Evan believed, as he should have, that the small pureblood growing deep within his future bride was a Rosier fathered by a Rosier to be raised by a Rosier.

Others knew different.

Her father, the illustrious Governor of Hogwarts, would never know the father of her babe. He would never know who had defiled-yet truly loved- his most delicate flower. He would never guess, never fathom in his wildest, crudest imagination, that the little feathering of blond hair and gray eyes came from the man who stood beside him at meetings- a man nearly his own age. He knew the man’s history. He knew his employment history- a Potion’s Master at Hogwarts- and his blood status. He knew the man’s beliefs and allegiances. He knew the man’s taste in brandy and cognac. He knew the man’s name, his full name. But he did not know just who had been sharing his bed for the past four years.

Narcissa had refused to give her lover away, fearing for him. She had known the consequences of doing so. Perhaps the law would not punish him, for the law could not possibly know the extent to which this affair had been going on for, but her father could. Talks of marriage had been brushed away with such complete disregard that Narcissa’s heart had felt flattened by the weight of the world now resting against her. Even when he knew, even when her lover had known about the babe within her, a proposition had not come that night. Not even talk of bringing the idea to her father for an alliance.

A week later she had been in Paris. No letters sent his way. No tokens of affection dabbed with her lavender perfume packaged in parchment envelopes to remind him of her. She had left, cut everything close to the seams of her life, and disappeared for three months.

And now she had returned. The crowd gathered below for the Beltane celebration the Black Family traditionally always threw had to know she had returned. There must be chatter below about just why she had disappeared and rumors of just who this Rosier fellow was. The engagement was no more rushed them most, though the timing so close to the end of mourning was just suspicious enough to feed the gossips.

Narcissa had not entered with her family, as she usually did. Nor had she entered in with Rosier. She had claimed a small upset in her stomach- something the family had taken for as being the woman’s sickness that invaded all fertile, full witches. She had been, truly, nervous. She had not wanted all those eyes on her and all those whispers filling the empty space of air. It was better this way, small commotion rather than a large scene.

She slipped from her bedroom and into the ballroom quietly, not looking expectant or confident, as was her usual humor. Her nose barely raised itself into the air. An enchanted tray nudged her elbow and offered a glass of champagne- she rejected it, prodding the wood away. A House elf would bring her sparkling grape juice; water would further feed the gossiping mamas.

The blonde moved through the crowd of people, smiling and thanking everyone for their half-hearted ‘welcome home!’ and merely laughing as several friends requested to _finally_ meet her _darling_ Rosier. She stilled after yet another group of simpering girls, taking a breath and raising her eyes to the chandelier above her. She had, she realized with a soft gasp, reached the center of the room. In another breeze of realization, Narcissa closed her eyes and caught her breath. She was in the center of hundreds of people who were all laughing and smiling and drinking her father’s bubbly. This was her world; the society she had been bred, born, and raised to grasp in the center of her pale, pureblood-filled palm.

She looked over her shoulder slowly and locked eyes with Evan, lowering hers quickly. He was moving towards her, faster as he broke through several groups of people (who, were no doubt, disgruntled over this new comer’s rudeness). She moved around in a circle, her skirt spreading out as her eyes scanned the crowd. Mirrors. Mirrors and people. Everywhere.

Her whitewashed eyes found doors, ones she knew would lead her to her mother’s garden. She moved towards them with her eyes closed, apologizing as she cut through the people, her hands coming up to protect her face. She only stopped, looking up, when she felt two hands grasp her wrists much too firmly. She looked up and bit her lip, locking her eyes with the muddy-puddle brown ones of her to-be husband. Narcissa studied his face for the firs time; his skin was smooth, untouched by any hardships of life. The lines in his forehead were severe, angry. Perhaps that was just the way his eyebrows were dipped down between his eyes. There were some patches of hair that had been shaved earlier, but only patches. She wondered if the man before her was even able to grow a beard yet.

"And where were you going, Miss Black?" He asked, the smile he wore on his face not quite reaching his eyes. His grip on her wrists tightened. "A hostess should not leave her party. Especially after arriving late, _my love_.”

Narcissa swallowed. “I couldn’t, I couldn’t breathe. So many people, you know, _my love_.” She stressed the last words, mimicking his tone. “Especially in my state. Escort me then, if you so insist?”

He did insist. He insisted on quite a lot of things. His plates had to be placed in very certain fashions. His clothing had to be expensive and from only particular designers. His coffee must be stirred clockwise and his fiancé must always be at his side. Narcissa leaned against the railings of the garden, taking a deep breath. The air filled her lungs, satisfying at least _something_ within her.

She was closing her eyes, enjoying the buzz of little creatures in the garden the way the scents of flowers seemed to mingle with the air she inhaled, giving it a decadent taste. Did air have a taste? This did. It tasted like magic and peace and something lovely. Perhaps it was just the wishes she had deep down nestled in her womb next to the unborn child. Perhaps it was just Beltane.

She barely had time to think on this before she was turned about to face Rosier.

"This behavior…needs improvement, Narcissa." He chided, reaching up to press his palm to the side of her face. "Ever since we arrived here you have been…odd." He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers much too vigorously for her taste.

She accepted it for a moment, though her lips, as always had been her fashion when kissing Rosier, didn’t move against his. She then pressed the tips of her fingers to the velvet of his robes and pushed him away. “Evan. My sickness,” She said softly, pressing a hand to her stomach and stepping back. Her backside hit the brick of the wall and the leaves of a rose bush tickled the exposed skin of her shoulders.

There was silence then. Not a sweet silence in which she could enjoy the sound of her lover’s breathing. It was tangible, unenjoyably, and awkward. She cleared her throat and gestured to the fountain.

"My sister and I," She began softly. "We used to wade in the fountain when we were girls, during the summer months. It would be nice to do so now, don’t you think, Evan? The night is so warm and the air is so…. crisp with energy. Do you think it’s the Sabbat?"

Narcissa allowed a lazy smile to spread across her lips, hers genuinely reaching every aspect of her features. Is this not what lovers did, sharing curiosities and self-indulgent desires? As her eyes returned to his, her smile disappeared far quicker than it had grown.

"I detest your flaws, Narcissa Black. You are to seek to remedy them. You are entirely too childish." He said coldly, releasing her upper arm. She had forgotten that he’d been gripping her skin. The discoloration was visible even with just the flicker of a few candles above them.

"Childlike," She corrected softly, jutting her chin out. Her flaws grew defensive.

"Far too silly," He continued, his face hardening.

"I am _soulful_ ,” she snapped ever so slightly.

He leaned forward until his nose touched hers. She could smell whiskey on this breath. “And you have disgusting freckles.”

She finally pushed him away, her weak wrists able to do so with surprising skill. She was far used to someone with muscles holding her down. On a bed. Against a wall. She was too distracted to let her cheeks flush at those fleeting thoughts. “That’s a lie!”

"You deceive yourself," he barked. "You know," He said, breathing in her scent from his close proximity. "It’s a sign of immaturity to wear lavender perfume before you’re forty."

"Well…you’re a poseur! I’ve heard you, down in my father’s garden, talking to yourself and reciting romantic poems…about yourself! Ha! The _great_ duelist!”

"You’re adolescent!"

"I’m going to take my clothes off and go wading in the fountain!"

"It’s not my problem, _enfant_. If that thing in your womb is a boy, you’ll hardly talk with me again. I am going to go back to Paris or London and drink and gamble.”

Narcissa’s teeth were clenched so tightly a casual observer may have wondered if her tiny little bones in her jaw were ready to snap. “Oh, I’ll find my own pleasures. I’ll have an affair!”

Rosier was close again, his chest practically pressing her breasts flat. His breath slipped into her nostrils, the alcohol upsetting Narcissa’s already generally unstable stomach. She was relived when he finally pulled away after a slow, steady warning of: “You had best be discreet, dearest.”

She moved away from the spot with a speed she had not imagined her shaking legs to be capable of. Her twisting hands mimicked the feeling in her stomach; churning pits of snakes swallowing each other in and endless chain that would not stop until she collapsed to slept or spewed them up from within her. Twisting her fingers around the trellis, she ignored the shuffle of feet and small mutterings behind her.

Rosier had stood watching her for a few moments before turning on his heal and wanting nothing more than another scotch and to return to the gathering inside. He clipped another man’s shoulder, who had had the opposite intention of him and was making _his_ way outside, offering a rather apathetic apology. He barely looked up, just long enough to catch a glimpse of shoulder length blond hair tide neatly over one shoulder and cold, steel grey eyes. When Rosier was finally inside with another glass in his eager little hand, he turned his head just slightly to peek out the glass doors that lead to the garden just long enough to witness his petite fiancé run into this stranger’s embrace and mouth ‘ _Lucius_ ' before her face was buried in his shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Lucius Malfoy refilled the glass of brandy he’d only half finished. It would be his third one that evening, though it had been years since any sort of spirit had done much to _his_ spirit. He had thought to dull his mind that evening, sick of the thoughts that slipped into his psyche every time he let his attentions wander. The blond pressed his foot to the carpet and half-slumped into his chair. The eyes ever-so-fixated on the rows of books before him blurred slightly as the corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk. ‘No, sick was the wrong word,’ his mind chastised. ‘Brilliant, wonderful, sensual, earned, wanted…anything but sick.’

They were always the same, in essence. A lithe, small-breasted blonde under him, in his lap, begging him to love her. Oh, they all came with different scenarios. It was as if each daily occurrence inspired his fantasies. One his desk at work, in his private box at the opera, a dark corner of every dinner party he attended, in his stables. Perhaps she’d become a mediwitch and give him a thorough exam. Maybe she’d accept a position as his terrible, poorly behaved cousin’s children’s governess. They had begun bordering on the line of desperate and ridiculous. _His_ Narcissa, the prideful vixen, would never actually do anything for a wage. He let out a chuckle, breaking the silence. The two large (and extremely lazy, considering their original purpose of purchase) hunting dogs sat up, and Sage- the larger of the two beasts- let out a low bark.

"Damned dogs", he murmured, giving them a silencing-sort of look. Sage went to bark again, though it shifted quickly into more of a whine. They’d not been the same since She had managed to get her hands on them. Thistle, the female of the pair, had a now-wilted bow about her neck. Sage expected to be permitted a spot on his bed, never mind the new inability for the two to sleep in the stables.

She’d always been too kind as far as animals were concerned. The kitten he’d purchased for her had been proof; white fur, blue eyes, exquisite breeding, and not a _single_ bit of obedience. He was often equally likely to find the damned thing nestled amongst graded reports in his desk drawer as he was to find the thing in his owner’s arms. She’d insisted the dogs (which had been just fine in the stables for seven years and as others had been fine in the same spot for countless generations) much preferred to be curled up at the foot of his bed or in the very least given a down pillow before the fireplace. Silly girl, he chided in his head. But even that caused the corners of his mouth to turn up and a sickening feeling of bands tightening around his chest. Lucius brought his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes.

Even this room haunted him. His study. It was supposed to be his sanctuary should he ever find a wife and beget an heir from her. He’d had Narcissa several times on various pieces of furniture within the wood paneled walls. Each time he loved her was memorable in its own way, as if he was taking her for the first time or in some new fangled fashion. The amount he’d give to have her sprawled across the lounge, merely reading a book as he slowly stroked the length of her spine in a lovely post-love glow…he couldn’t name a limit on it.

He shouldn’t have gone to the Black’s dinner. That was where he went wrong. All he wanted was a look at her, at his darling. After what she’d done, how could he ignore the longing in the pit of his stomach? He wanted to see her upset, battled one part of his mind. The other half disagreed; she needed to be blissfully content with the life she’d made for herself. To tell him she was bearing his child and then to disappear to France for four months? No floo calls, no patronus, not even a goddamned owl to explain. Had she lost the child? Had she ‘taken care’ of the child? Why had she left him? Who was the doting, stupid prat of a boy twenty years his junior planning to marry her? Lucius finger’s clenched around the stem of his snifter.

He’d had a great deal of his questions answered, of course. He had wanted them answered and it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his if he so choose to dislike what the answers were. It was his favorite fantasy come to life before swirling into a nightmare.

_She’d stood on the balcony, clutching a balustrade. All legs, blonde hair, and bright blue eyes that would startle Merlin himself. The slight curve of her stomach beneath his favorite color and the ever so small swell of her breasts gave him an ache in his heart and a knot in his stomach; his petite love, quickened with his seed and carrying his child. Not the boy who’d held her fragile wrist too tightly and produced the god-awful, tacky ring on her finger. His. But his angel was crying and lost. He had cursed himself for ever wishing ill will._

_The moment their eyes had met, Narcissa had run to him. Lucius had been unable to do anything but hold her tight to his chest as she cried. His fingers slid into her hair, the pins be damned if they could possibly stop him from touching her silken locks again. After several moments her breath began to even and her tears started to fade. Lucius had brought his thumb and finger to her jaw, tilting her head up so their eyes could meet._

_"Narcissa I would have-," He began, but she cut him off as she choked out the answers he didn’t ask for._

_"I have to marry him, Lucius. He thinks it’s his, so it might as well be. If it were to get out that it was…that you and I…," Narcissa had to take a moment to breathe again, though she allowed Lucius to press his handkerchief to the corners of her eyes. "The results will never favor anything good if I don’t. Either I was wanton in school or a whore while engaged. You were either a pervert or a lecherous wife-stealer. And I could care less if people think I had cheated on him- Merlin himself would have condoned the behavior- but I will not have people speak of you that way. Your reputation in the ministry will be lost, your career at Hogwarts completely ruined."_

_She’d thought this through, he realized. And heart-breakingly so, her own pain was to save him. Her unhappiness was to provide him with some sort of lifestyle. Wasn’t this the wrong way around? Weren’t older gentlemen supposed to leave their little love-ettes in the same or better condition from which they came across them? He should tell her so, tell her he didn’t care, tell her that the ministry and all of Hogwarts could bugger off so long as he could touch her again. Before he could open his mouth, Narcissa was out of his arms and back towards the house._

_"My Mama will be missing me, Luc," she said, her voice soft and broken sounding. Lucius noticed, as she wrung her hands, a small bruise had started to form on her wrist. After a pause, she mouthed ‘I love you.’ He guessed that she’d meant to say the words aloud but her voice hadn’t been found. She had been gone before he could return them._

As the memories of that night unfolded before his eyes, as it had many times in that past week, he downed the last of the brandy in his glass and then turned to take a swig directly from the bottle. He wanted her here, with him. Not just sexually. His fantasies could be damned, his manhood be damned so long as he had Her. A muffled whine and then a yap from Sage brought his attention back to the dogs. “Dog, if you do not stop the bloody, damned noise I swear I shall-,” But his words stopped coming as he realized what the creature was making noise at. A blonde girl, wrapped in a black silk cloak, looking suddenly cross at him.

"Don’t swear at them, Lucius Malfoy. They’re just being _dogs_ ,” the figure chastised. He had drunk too much. He was hallucinating. Perhaps this wasn’t really brandy. Perhaps he didn’t give a flying damn.

"Narcissa," he breathed, standing up and placing the decanter down as he crossed the room in two steps to meet her. His hands cupped her face and his eyes scanned it, as if trying to figure out if she was real.

Narcissa pressed a hand to her stomach and shifted the cloak from her shoulders. She still looked cross. Why would his fantasy be cross with him? “You smell of brandy, Luc,” She whispered, her nose wrinkling. “Poor quality at that. It’s making my stomach roll.”

But he didn’t care, just then, if she was sick all over his clothing. He pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply. His tongue slid across her bottom lip before plunging into her. He nipped and stroked and claimed her as much as he could with just his mouth. His hands never left her face, anchoring her to place. He noted with immense pleasure, when he finally pulled away, that her eyes had gone soft. Lucius watched as she licked her lips, keeping them slightly parted.

"Lucius I _can’t_ -“

"I _won_ 't let-“

Their words crashed into each other, stopping them both in their tracks. It was all the confirmation both of them needed just then. Lucius wrapped his arms around her and with an ease that shouldn’t exist halfway through her pregnancy, he lifted her up in his arms and backed her towards the lounge several steps away. His hands went to her skirts, hitching them up as he bent to reclaim to her lips with his. He paused, suddenly aware of their situation and her state and met her eyes to wait for her go ahead. Her hands, he realized with a soft, purely joyous laugh that her hands were already fumbling to free him from his trousers. He grabbed at her hand suddenly, practically ripping the gold and ruby band from her finger to toss the ring away. Neither could have cared less where it landed or if it was capable of being retrieved and before the metal had even clinked to the ground and rolled away he was inside her.


	3. Chapter 3

Narcissa sat in front of her father’s mahogany desk, her fingers trying desperately to remain still but failing miserably. They twitched, traced the grain of the wood, and yanked at the fabric of her dress. All of the stress, the weight of wanting to explain everything to her father, and the longing to be with Him were twisting together and forcing an insurmountable need and drive within the frail girl. She was in a fragile condition, which was easily apparent to anyone who set their gaze on the petite blonde. Her skin had gone sallow and her hair ever so slightly dim, but there with a light in her eyes had only resurfaced in the past week.  
  
Returning to her homeland had become something entirely different than what she had imagined. She had expected to return, find her father resembling the man she had known before everything had occurred, marry, and live out her life with little joy other than that which grew in her womb. It was the only option, the only remedy for her lovestruck passionate affair. But her fiancé, the man claiming the babe in her and the only breathing soul to have ever sought to put the youngest Black in ‘her place’, was more and more unbearable with each passing day. His temper grew more volatile, his actions more brutal, and whatever pretense of desire and affection he had exhibited had long been extinguished.  
  
Perhaps he was always a petty, prone to anger man. Narcissa was stubborn in many areas of her life, usually ones that she could maintain control over, but this was a situation she had just enough power to protect the two souls more dear to her than her own. Perhaps Narcissa had turned a blind eye to her future husband’s disposition when she had admitted defeat in her Plan of Perfect Happiness. What had transpired in France wounded every inch of her soul; to first leave everything she had loved, to accept the cruel fate that had seemed the only safe means of saving Lucius and their growing child, and to submit her mind and body to a man she could barely look upon without feeling overwhelming disgust. It had been easier then, when she was so distant from everything that she loved. Her return to the familiar bosom of Britain’s pureblood society was not the warm homecoming she had imagined, but a bile inducing realization that she was preparing to make the largest mistake of her life.  She could not go through with it.  
  
Narcissa Black _would_ have the man she loved, the fruit of his loins twisting in her abdomen, and her happiness even if she had to suffer social repercussions for years. There was a time in the young woman’s life where society image had meant everything to her; nothing held more power for Narcissa than the sway of gossip and the thoughts of society’s revered matrons. She had grown older, more sure of what she needed to persevere. She had learned what love meant, had known the feeling of being complete and running to the ends of the earth for the man she loved. She had once thought protecting him was the only way to continue to show her adoration, her unyielding affections, but he didn’t need the protection she offered. He needed the woman growing round with his child, the woman he adored to the very depth of his soul. And she needed him.

_Narcissa adjusted her head on the arm of the black leather couch, adjusting her body as Lucius lifted his weight from her skin. They were both slick with sweat and Narcissa’s fingers trembled as she skimmed over the slightly furred chest of her lover. He remained between her thighs, her legs half-wrapped around his hips, not willing to let any more expanses of flesh part from her skin. Lucius let his eyes lazily wandered over her body, recommitting every curve and swell to memory. Trussed up in ribbons and satin, he hadn’t been able to see the curve of her stomach but now it repeatedly drew his attention. He placed a hand it gently, taken aback as he always was by just how tiny she was in comparison to him. Shouldn’t she be larger now? Had she been eating enough? Had she seen a healer yet? The questions came to mind so quickly, they clogged his throat.  The usually stoic man, the lord of cool disdain, fought the burn of emotion in his chest as his eyes stung. His woman and his child._

_“You will not leave me again, Narcissa. I absolutely forbid it.” Lucius bent over her form slightly, grasping the back of his head in her palm to meet her eyes. “You **cannot** leave me again.”_

_Narcissa was less adept at fighting back tears. She had been holding on to an image of apathy for so long that the barriers crumbled easily on such a force. They flowed down her cheeks freely as the young woman shook her head vigorously. “Never, never, never. I can’t…I won’t…” She gasped for breath with each word._

_Lucius drew away, just enough to adjust himself pull her into a seated position on his lap. He stroked her back, burying his nose in her vanilla scented locks. “We will figure **something** out, I promise.”_

Narcissa placed her hand just above her navel, growing even more nervous with each passing minute. She should have waited, but she could not wait a moment longer than necessary. Evan Rosier trounced around the Black family manor like a spoiled child-king, admiring every light fixture and piece of silver as he investigated ‘his future estate’. The maids were apparently among the property he intended to examine carefully. The Rosier family had long ago lost their fortune and had not looked with suspicion upon an offer from the Black family for marriage. They were, after all, a ramshackle (albeit rich) bunch of insanity and incest. Cygnus had offered a dowry so large, it would have been easy enough to slip a sack of potatoes to Evan and call it a wife. She would _not_ marry him.

Cygnus was in a meeting, his secretary had informed Narcissa, but the girl was welcome to wait in his office until he returned. Narcissa had done so, trying to replace every nervous thought with the humdrum of the Ministry of Magic. Voices and noises and shouts could not completely squash the feeling of impeding sickness. Before Narcissa had to run to the lady’s room, Cygnus opened the door with an odd look on his face. “Narcissa,” He began, his voice fighting between concern and annoyance. “What on earth are you do-” He began, but the girl would not let him finish.

“If you make me marry him, Papa, I will not live past the wedding night,” She stated, the words rushing from her mouth after being trapped in her throat for so long. “I will throw myself from the window or run away.”

Cygnus poured himself a glass of whiskey, his body stiffening. No daughter disobeyed and no child ever threatened her father in such a way. Her threat, to end her life, would shame him until he reached his deathbed. “You have no choice, Narcissa. You have made your bed and now you must lie in it.”

That was when the tears resurfaced, filling the pale woman’s face with red and pink blotches. “Please, Papa. Please, please, please.” The tears shifted into a complete bout of sobbing. “I just want to marry him, the real father. Please don’t be upset with me. Please…” 

Cygnus watched as his daughter pleaded, having lost control of any sense of decorum and strength. “If the father of your bastard was eligible to wed, you should have given me the name of the blackguard before this debacle.  How do you think this will look, Narcissa? You, calling off your marriage after a seemingly rushed engagement? Giving birth several months too early? You are lucky enough Rosier would take you, for you are not the daughter I once had.”

The sobs continued and Cygnus downed the rest of his drink before refilling the glass. “You will make yourself sick if you do not stop this nonsense.” He added. “I order you to stop this nonsense and-”

“But I want to marry Lucius. Please, Papa.”

That was not what Cygnus had expected to hear. Of all the names he had thought up, of all the individuals he had believed to be the ruination of his daughter…and it had been the man he had thought a peer and a friend.  The man was twice her age, well involved in certain social circles, and his daughter’s former _Professor_.

Cygnus dropped his glass, letting it shatter on the floor. “Lucius. _Malfoy_.”

“Mister Black, there’s a Lucius Malfoy to see you.”

Mister Black jerked his head up, barely registering as his secretary’s voice announced Lucius’ entrance.

Lucius entered, as he always entered a room, with sense of self-importance and dignity.  When he took in the scene before him, noting everything from the shattered glass to the girl to the wand on the desk, Lucius removed his cloak in an attempt to drop some of his airs. “Ah. I see Miss Black has already begun to explain the details of my proposition.” He bit back a request for scotch.

Narcissa twisted in her chair, trying to get a good look at Lucius. She had not expected to see him here, to witness as she begged, pleaded, and sobbed for him. She should have let Lucius take care of this all; her effort was nothing more than painful and embarrassing.  She was expecting some sort of look from him- chastisement, worry, lust…anything. Lucius was seemingly ignoring the crying woman in the center of the room.

“Proposition?” Cygnus choked out. “Then it was you that soiled her. That would not even have the decency to molest my young girl and then offer for marriage when he heard that she was expecting…”

“And when,” Lucius snapped, moving towards the desk and helping himself to the scotch instead. “Did you give me an opportunity to, Black? Before or after you sent her away to France and attached her to impoverished aristocracy?”

“Either would have done. Have you ruined many other girls, Lucius? Did you hear about the dowry and come running to-,” Cygnus was once again halted mid speech.

Lucius had prepared himself for accusations on his character, on his manhood, and threats on his life. But he would not have _this_ become about money.  “You will not ever repeat such a statement again. Whatever estate and money your family possesses, we both are very well aware that it is nothing more than a pebble compared to the mountains my family has built.  If I offer for your daughter, which I am wary of doing so on the sole basis that I will have attached myself to you as well, I will ask for no dowry. I will do so on the basis that she is pretty and that pleases me. I will do so on the basis that she is carrying in my heir in her womb and for one who never managed to produce a boy, you should be very understanding of what is at risk. And if you reject my offer, Cygnus, you will regret it every day of your life. I _always_ get what I want.”

Cygnus was wordless, unable to do more than shake from anger and wounded pride. “Keep the money, Cygnus. Pay back your debts so you do not end up like the family you just tried to attach yourself too; penniless and thoroughly scorned. It would be too embarrassing to have impecunious in-laws at formal events.”

Lucius sniffed, reaching into the pocket of his robes and pulling out a small, black velvet box. He opened it up, admired his taste in jewelry, before placing it on the desk before Narcissa. The ring nestled inside was far from the gaudy thing Evan had jammed onto her hand. This was somehow simple and lavish. The multitude of crystal clear diamonds sparkled, even in the dim light in the Ministry, and the platinum band had its own shining glory about it.

“I will be by for dinner tonight to begin talks of the wedding. I expect red meat, for my bride appears to have been starved since I last saw her. I also expect the Rosier clan gone, do you understand?” Lucius did not wait for an answer as he grabbed his cloak from the rack and opened the door.

Narcissa sat stunned, the tears having dried and turned to salty residue on her cheeks. The ring stared back at her, teasing her, making her wonder if that had all just really occurred.

Cygnus moved slowly to sit down, his own eyes fixated on the box on his desk. “Do you know what you’ve entangled yourself in, Narcissa?” He asked slowly. “A Professor, a Death Eater…”

Narcissa nodded, unable to find words. Her fingers slowly unclenched from the fabric of her skirt, picking the ring out of its velvet bed ever so slowly. It fit perfectly, as she expected it would.

“We had best go home now. Your mother and I have far too much to do before he arrives tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly AU. This is my return to writing these two after a long hiatus, please be kind.


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